[Equestrian Power Plant, Outskirts of Canterlot; 100 Hours, 5 Minutes; Weave]
“Welcome to the power plant, Weave” And then he remembered; he was deaf.
The power plant was filled with the grumblings of multiple scientists upon the subject of the upcoming apocalypse, claimed to happen in just a few days. A certain scientist, Rod, had brought his son, Weave, to the plant. It was his his birthday in a few days also, the day of the feared apocalypse, so his dad considered this an early birthday present. What Weave had lost in hearing he made up for in wingpower. “Hey Nucleus! I brought my son over to see the power plant before the Big Boom!” He silently chuckled at all of the names he could think of for the event; Big Boom, the End of Equestria, Ultimate Doom, the Climax, the Endless Plot Hole... He was brought out of his daydream by Nucleus, who was sweating like it was a hot summer day. “Hey Nucleus, what’s wrong? It’s the middle of December and it’s snowing outside; how can you be sweaty? And then he saw the culprit; a flashing red siren, pitching out an off-key ‘F’ natural.
Nucleus whispered out the sullen words, laced with doom, “Code Red, Level Five. The End of Equestria is upon us all.” He then whirled out of sight, into the thick white of snow.
See, there are six codes of emergency. Codes are based on color, and in order of least to most dangerous; Purple (Zero, Harmless), Blue (One, Slight), Green (Two, Moderate), Yellow (Three, High), Orange (Four, Huge), and finally Red (Five, End of Equestria). There are also six general levels for the note played. An ‘A’ means it will stay inside the power plant; a ‘B’ means Canterlot; a ‘C’ means Ponyville; a ‘D means Las Pegasus; an ‘E’ means Stalliongrad; an ‘F’ means all of Equestria. So, based on the urgency of the siren and some quick math, the whole of bright, sunny Equestria was coming to an end in five minutes, give or take. Some ponies were leaving through the back doors, some dived into the uranium tanks, dying of poisoning; and yet some still were frozen in place, afraid to move. Moving through the crowd, Weave was beginning to escape when an immense shock wave rippled the power plant, sending people flying through the walls. He saw Rod and Nucleus fly by out of control, but it passed through himself like nothing ever happened; no change, no sickness, nothing. He raced after a speed and intensity that could rival the Captain of the Wonderbolts. No amount of speed could keep him down and out with the wave, now sweeping towards other big cities.
[Ponyville Schoolyard; 100 Hours, 3 Minutes; Root]
“Okay, my little ponies, time to go to recess!”
Miss Quill was the nicest teacher you could hope for come junior year. Yeah, she still treated the whole class like foals, but at least she was a true free spirit; no homework, nobody really ever got into trouble, and nowhere near as strict. I consider myself one of the lucky ones; Stalliongrad would’ve been too strict for me. Out in the lunch yard, Diamond Necklace and Cake Batter were commanding the field as per usual, ordering when to eat, when to hang out, when to scream in terror of me, and, whenever obvious it seemed, when to go in. A bell rang to tell the class that lunch was over when necessary. Now, however, was not one of those times. The teacher had just released them. The Monday band was getting ready, with Brass Bugle and Jazz Hooves. The Monday band had started as a ‘ day-brightener’ for the stereotypical Monday, slabbed forever as the worst day of the week. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, Necklace let out a purposely audible gasp, and shrieked, “Woe be, woe be! Twisted Root has come to me!” She then ran away in mock terror, and the class burst with laughter.
Now, Twisted Root was no ordinary pony. He came from Stalliongrad a couple of years ago, before the Wall was torn down. How he got here was a mystery; he was found by Rarity in a dark alley, but soon moved out into a dirt hole, formerly a badger den. Lame, he couldn’t use his back right hoof. He was a bareback; no papers, no materials, no food, no water. Rarity took upon her the task of saving this colt, unto which he was brought back from nothing. The only traces of where he came from were three things; his thick accent, his easily pained demeanor, and, of course, his crippled leg.
He finally mustered up enough self-confidence to say a simple word, using it as a stepping stone. “Stop.”
He could be commanding at times, but right now was not one of those times. This was a time to be gathering up strength for a telling point. “Just because the end of the world is upon us, that doesn’t mean you can start bullying anypony! What if the world doesn’t end? The Seeds have never been wrong on the small stuff, always on time, but they’ve never been tested on something as big as this before; the end of the world!” He gave a small chuckle, a deep, hearty chuckle, and continued. “It must have still been a big thing back then; they could’ve easily forgotten a number and messed up Equestrian society!”
There was a small voice in his head. Strike now! The voice gave him confidence; debates were his specialty, and boy, did he love them! “The pinnacle of our success is only so if the world were to end now, and since the Seeds stated that, and I quote, ‘We are but merely at the bottom of a vast hill, seeming to stretch on to the sky and above’, we cannot be done!” And with that, the cocky stallion gave a smug grin at his wordplay, but the voice now sounded alarmed. The Seeds were wrong, I can sense a change in our path now. Go! Gather food, feed all people! He suddenly reared up on his legs, and, promptly realizing what he did, tried to lean forward. He fell on his hindquarters, and the motion of falling kept him in fluid synchronization with the floor, now flat on his back. The instant his back touched the dirt floor, laughter fell upon him. However, oblivious to the laughter, he simply bellowed out, “The end is here! Go! Get food, before it’s all gone!” And with that, he sacked the abandoned market, preserved it all in salt, and dragged it all back to his hole in the ground.
“Geez, what’s his problem?” The bell rang around thirty minutes later, and all of the ponies went inside the school. A shriek was heard as one of the students realized the abnormality; the teacher was gone! So far, all she had written was ’Open your arithmetic textbooks to page 1’ and there was a small curve; it was part of a number. Was it a two, or maybe a three? Could it have been an eight, a zero, a nine or a six? For this was all the school ponies knew; there was a large piece of chalk, split in half on the floor, slightly to the right of the curve.
[Stalliongrad Infirmary; 100 Hours, 0 Minutes; Brush]
“You simply must stop getting hurt, Paint! No more high-rise murals, at least a month! I don’t want to see you in here again.” Doctor Whooves then started rambling on about a small village called Ponyville, and to go there in case of an emergency, whatever and wherever that is. “You just follow the train tracks away from Town Center.” All of a sudden, it was silent. I could’ve sworn that it was the beginning of another long yarn about the earlier days, when he lived there. He did have a hint of urgency in his voice. I should see what’s wrong. She opened her eyes, and the doctor was gone. All she could hear were the crying foals.
“Doctor? Where are you?”
I’m in your head. Save the colts, save the fillies, every and anypony that needs help. Don’t bother with ones in critical care, or on life support. They are dead. Just worry about yourself, and everything will be alright. Remember: Follow the train tracks away from Town Center.
And on that note, she started off with a lengthy “Hello my little ponies, let’s get out of here!” Just like the voice in her head said, a lot of the ponies in critical condition had gone into a coma or were dead, and the ones on life support had perished the instant the shock wave rippled through town. She didn’t bother with these ponies. She only cared about the ones that could be saved. By the time she had finished evacuating the hospital, the lengthy introduction had turned into a smile and a held out hoof, trying to symbolize to the ponies Hey, I am your friend. Come with me!
Eventually, she evacuated the infirmary. Now, Paint Brush was not your ordinary pony. She was a complete dunce; even though she was a solid 13, she still had to have a pack of sticks for adding and subtracting numbers. She couldn’t read or write. Her vocabulary was limited to what the voice in her head said, but, on her own, she could make very basic sentences. That was all she had to say, that was all she ever needed to say. She was orphaned at a young age; she had lived off of the pure generosity of others, until she saved up enough money for her first paint, brush, and canvas. The Voice told her to do so, what to paint; it controlled her life. After her first painting, she was able to begin the struggle against poverty, being able to buy the same three materials, plus a few bits extra, which went to a decent meal. Once her paintings became worth more money, she bought a few clothes, such as a blue beanie and a blue hoodie to compliment her gray coat. She painted with these clothes on, slept with these clothes on, did everything with these clothes on, even painted with them, that she eventually tore the beanie and had to throw it away, and sold her hoodie once she had accumulated tons of paint on it for a fair price. Right now, she was wearing a newer hoodie, deciding where to take her herd of around 75 to 100 colts and fillies. The only colt there around her age, Cloud Chaser, had paired with her during the buddy system. They were now deciding where to take the group.
“Hey, I’m Cloud Chaser, and I’m a baker.”
“Paint Brush, I’m a painter. If you chase clouds, then why are you a baker?”
“I couldn’t chase clouds until a couple of weeks ago. Why are you so confused?” Unbeknownst to him, Brush had never learned about the Great Stalliongrad Wall that enveloped the city, the dictatorship, the freedom that came after the uprisings and when it was ripped down; nothing but a blank.
“Why wouldn’t you be able to leave?”
“The Stalliongrad Wall, it was torn down a couple of weeks ago. Have you been living under a rock your life?”
“No, but you were close; I actually live under a cardboard box!” She nickered, but her weak attempt at humor cost her a smack on the back of her head and a ‘get into the mix’. “My doctor’s last words were to follow the train tracks to Ponyville, away from Town Center; after that, he disappeared, just like the rest of the adults.”
“Well, since this is the only notion of a direction to go to, it’s decided; Ponyville or bust!”
“Okay my little ponies, follow me!” Let me see if I can find the most generous pony in all of Equestria in Ponyville!
[Outside Equestria; 99 Hours, 55 Minutes; Rod]
“Where am I?” After searching around, he saw nothing to pinpoint anything, except for the fact that he was probably colorblind; all the colors around him were either a pale gray, a deep black, or a piercing white. He came back to where he had appeared and saw, of all ponies, both princesses, one with a look of dismay, and one doing a facehoof and preparing for something.
“Of all the places, you had to choose the Moon?” In one sentence, Princess Luna had escalated from agitated to a full-blown Royal Canterlot Voice. Her last word echoed on for around a minute or two. Meanwhile, Princess Celestia was just minding her own business, making a new world, a breathable atmosphere, a variation of cities with enough houses and huts for everypony.
She finally took note of the navy blue mare in painful agony. “Lulu, play your part, before all of the prisoners from the various places arrive.” She now motioned over towards me. “Come and see the creation of a new world, a new Equestria. You were the person nearest the incident, so do you know what happened? I presume that, since you are Rod, it was at the power plant?”
“That is correct, Your Highness”
“Please, just call me Madame, I don’t feel too regal right now.”
“Yes, Madame. All I know is that there was a Level Five, and it was a Code Red. Equestria must have been destroyed.” Her face was a mix of shock, dismay, and confusion much like his. “There was a blue wave, and then... I was here. I know we are on the moon, but what are you doing?”
Avoiding the last question, she answered, “If something of your magnitude happened and you’re here, you were closest to the blast, how come you haven’t keeled over and died from radiation sickness or a cancerous super tumor?” She paused, and her horn lit up. Rod felt something, poking him seemingly everywhere. Her face was a face of pure shock. “You have no radiation in you whatsoever. Where’s your son?”
“I honestly don’t know, madame.” By now, Luna had finished creating a vast prison, and sat down beside the Princess of the Day.
Luna spoke up. “I looked at Equestria from one of my viewpoints here; it looks perfectly normal. Looking closer, however, there’s nothing over 15 years old, though; everything over 15 years old has disappeared. And when I mean everything, I mean everything. No classical books, no mares or stallions, some stores and food carts have vanished, pretty much all of Canterlot, Ponyville, and almost all of the other major cities are gone. The railroad track are gone, and really, only Stalliongrad is left. At least there are still crops for them to eat. And sadly, everypony in Stalliongrad is leaving. Hello, Doctor Whooves.”
“Hello, madame. She thinks she has to follow the train tracks, but if there are none, I just told her to get away from Stalliongrad. She will find an old friend soon enough, remember what he did to save her in a time of need, and realize her true destiny.”
“May I presume this is Twisted Root?” The name clicked in Rod’s head; was he an old friend? And then he remembered; he had seen him running, in the train station, looking for Mother, on the run with him.
[A/N: Phew! I actually had time to type this out! The next chapter is a flashback that will explain some things, like Weave’s deafness, Root’s lameness, and other things too. Look forward to it; I already have started working on it! My technique is this; write it on paper, then type it. And if you’re wondering what happened to Evasion, I’m going to re-publish it a few months from now.
~Fresh Cookies]
[Flashback; 3 years ago; Rod]
I was a runaway from Las Pegasus, offered a job at the new power plant near Canterlot. I brought his son, Weave, with him, for his mother was dead, and, though I did not want him, no next of kin would take him, neither any orphanage. I went from town to town, station to station, and I was on the penultimate leg of my journey; from Manehattan to Ponyville. I had gone from Las Pegasus to Trottingham to Stalliongrad to places unknown, and had come from Appaloosa. There were only two things on my mind; the next train to Ponyville, and a place to stay. The train to my next destination only came once a day and I had missed it by roughly 5 minutes. Looking upon a dark alley, I noted a ruckus coming from it, and also that my son was missing. Deadbeat bully who can’t stop beating up other ponies. I kept walking along, and Weave eventually caught up.
“Sorry Dad, had to use the colt’s room,” he blatantly lied.
“Thanks for letting me know where you were.” I responded, not wanting to give away that I know where he was, beating up somepony.
Around 5 minutes later, a gray colt came up to me, and inquired, “Have you perchance seen my mother? She was going out to use the mare’s room, and I haven’t seen her since. I just came out around a half hour ago, and now I’m finally worried.”
Responding, with a hint of sadness, I lied to him. “I fear she may be gone. I heard a commotion in a dark alleyway, close to the mare’s room. I tried to get to the attacker, but he got away. What did she look like? Oh, and by the ways, my name is Rod.”
He uneasily responded, for he was talking to a stranger. “Gray, all around, just like me, but she’s a mare. And nice name, Rod.”
“Yeah, that’s her. She only had a few scratches though. Where are you heading?”
“Ponyville. Are you heading there too?” The colt looked hopeful.
“Yes, I’m on my way over there. Maybe I’ll let you see my old friend while you wait for your mother.”
“Who’s your old friend?” he inquired.
“My old friend is Rarity, you might know her. Anyways, tell her Rod sent you. She lives in a boutique; she has a marshmallow coat and a purple, styled mane. Her Cutie Mark is a triplet of diamonds; she is the living essence of the spirit of Generosity.”
By this time Rod had walked back to where Weave was and noted a red wing marking on his flank. “Hey, what happened for you to get that?”
“I’ll... I’ll tell you later, Dad, okay?” Now unsure of himself, he collapsed into a fit of stuttering and mumbling. Then, regaining control over himself, he asked, “Who are you, and why are you concerned, young one? Do you fear my knives? Where I’m from, they are simply for times of need, self-defense.”
“He’s right; Las Pegasus is a dangerous place, kid. Hey Weave, are you fine with taking this kid away to Ponyville? I don’t know his name, but he’s just a colt. I think Rarity would like him. What’s your decision, Weave? Keep him or leave him?” He paused. “Would you like to come with us, kid?”
“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yeeeeeeees! Did I mention yes? I mean, if you’re the only way I’ll get to Ponyville, then sure, I’ll go with you! But can you promise I’ll be safe?”
“Sure, we can try and guarantee your safety!”
“Weave has no objection!” His face lit up. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks!”
And with that, they headed off to a hotel.
________________________________________
“Hey, kid, where are you from?” The gruff stallion was not so keen on having him along, but he felt a need and an obligation to help out those in need.
“I’m from Stalliongrad, and I moved from Trottingham last year.” With the young colt nervously replying, I now furrowed my seemingly bushy brows, squinted my eyes, and burrowed into my mind for a coherent thought.
Coming back to the realm of the living, I finally gave a response. “Did you see who mugged you and your mother?”
“It was a Pegasus, and by the looks of it, I’d say he was a blankflank colt.”
I sighed, shook my head, and muttered, “There are tons of pegasi out there, and it really doesn’t help to say just a male Pegasus. Anything else?”
Finally, he relented and poured out the information. “His flank was a dark brown, kind of the same manecut, definitely the same, piercingly blue eyes. However, the mane color and the length and color of the tail were distinctly different; the mane is blonde, and so is the tail, while the mugger had such a deep, brown mane and tail that it could be mistaken for a black one. I don’t think it was Weave, except the eyes never lie…” He shook his head, and lay down, as we had already boarded the train.
“Weave! Get over here and explain to this foal why he thinks you’re the mugger! I have a feeling that he’s right…”
“Rod! He’s gone!” I looked back at the colt, a look of sheer terror in his eyes, and a mirrored look of genuine fear in mine. Our eyes somehow grew more scared when a shadow was noticed lurking around. Rooooooooood… Roooooooooot… It’s beeeeen a while, Root… So nice to see you again… So nice to exact my revenge for what you’ve done… what you’ve done to me Faaaaather… what I’ve done to myself… What this blankflank, insolent foal has done to me and you and our family! The last part was laid out in a spitting hiss, clearly angered.
Oh no… I thought to myself. He’s having another psychotic paroxysm!
The chilly voice spoke up again. Oh yeeeees I am, my dearest Faaaaather… Yeeeeeeeeees I ammm… Slowly, Weave stepped out of the shadows, and onto the red cabin floor. “Ahhh… red. The perrrfect color to hide the dishonest father’s and the time traveler’s blood in.” Letting out an evil cackle, he jumped on the two ponies, which were now fighting for their lives.
“Kid, get back now! I think you’ve now become well acquainted with my other son, the one that goes crazy on a killing spree whenever a trigger is set off. What have you done to make his mind blow up?" Pausing, he spoke up. "You know what, never mind, not enough time. Just find a safe place; he finds you, consider yourself dead.” And I leapt to face my greatest fear; my own son.
________________________________________
[Root; Same Flashback]
When Rod leapt at Weave, I got scared. So, naturally, I found a hiding spot, into which I buried myself into a pile of hay. Watching then through a small peephole I carved, I watched in agonizing horror as they each pulled out a large knife. Are they really going to fight to the death? Once Weave had leapt out of his father’s path to throw his jagged switchblade, Rod had taken the precautionary steps, brandishing his sleek machete and coming out to deflect his son’s blade, but instead, while poised to throw, he instead decided to stand down for now, and charge towards his dear relative.
“I will kill you dad!”
At this point, I thought there was no turning back. His mentally crazed eyes were well beyond even those in the mental infirmary inside the Stalliongrad Hospital, the ones bound with straightjackets and kept in rooms with cushions. Rod had now turned to self-defense, and was now attempting to cajole Weave into standing down. By the time he could pull out the straightjacket, he already had small scratches, scrapes, and other various cuts inside him, all over his body sans his abdomen, thankfully.
I have to help him, or else we both die, and trust me, that wound not be pleasant.
Leaping out of my hiding spot, Weave must have noted me as easy prey, for as soon as he heard something else, something out of the ordinary, he whirled his head around, and a sinister smile plus laugh brought my hopes plummeting, and, I’ll just say, that was the one game of tag where the fat pony would actually care about being tagged. Somewhere in the seconds of me running versus a flying, crazed Pegasus, Rod caught his thoughts and jumped on Weave, and I thanked my natural boon for luck and caught my breath. But then, something terrible happened, and for that, I shall never be the same, nor shall Rod or Weave, if he ever gets out of his mental craze and lives to see the light again. While he was being tackled, I shall note that pegasi have an incredible amount of strength while threatened. He was still flying for, I’d say, a good minute, and in that time, he managed to slash my hind legs.
He was blubbering about after being wrapped in a straightjacket faster than I’ve ever seen a pony been wrapped, still shouting various profanities, empty threats now that he was tied up. But, my legs. Oh, my poor, poor legs. It was a pain like no other; it hurt on a degree that, whence feeling the pain, it was such an egregious wound that there was no pain to be felt; you were already enveloped. I heard myself repeat some words many times, I saw the caring face of Rod, and then I passed out into the deepest sleep I ever thought possible.
________________________________________
[Rod; Same Flashback]
By now, I was beginning to realize what he had done. Taking the rest of the way to view the spectacle of the past, I had to think of a plan to take Root to Ponyville without further harm or another absolutely glaring mistake. I brought an innocent child into the lair of his mother’s murderer. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I had knocked out my son so that he could get better; he needed to think. Attempting to repair the legs of my unconscious colt, I just couldn’t make it all work. I’d get a doctor here, but he probably couldn’t fix it either. Thank goodness the train to Canterlot doesn’t leave for another day. I still have time to redeem myself. He could hear something stirring, and his defenses went up.
“Ugh… Dad, where am I? Are we still in Manehattan?”
“Weave, you’re on a train to a small town called Ponyville, and we are getting close to our destination. We’re taking a day’s rest there, and then moving on to our final destination, Canterlot.” Maybe it’s a good thing he never remembers his psychotic episodes. If he did, then it would be a crazy time trying to get him from killing himself out of anger, or worse, succumbing down a mental slope, admitting himself into the asylum, where they treat them without them dying, but the pain being worse. I wouldn’t be here now, and neither would he or Root. “A stowaway crept on board to get some sleep before we came in. It seems as if he’s a colt around your age, Weave. I talked to him, and he’s getting off at the next stop. Please, for our sakes, don’t bother him. He really needs to rest.”
When the time was right, and while nobody was looking, Weave dashed off board in need of a colt’s room. Taking the opportunity, I rushed over to Rarity’s Boutique in need of a lab coat for his new work place. Walking in with a delirious foal at my side, however, did not help his case as I made a gamely attempt at giving the foal to Rarity in exchange for a coat and matching pants. “He can help around the place! Shouldn’t a foal of his age be able to not cause trouble anyways, especially in his condition?”
“Tell that to my sister; she’d remember being his age! And she was nothing but trouble!”
“Excuse me, but now it gets personal!”
“Why, I never!”
“Please, for both of our sakes, I’ll pay double over time if you take him!”
“Deal!”
“Just remember to make the order to the Canterlot Post Office, for I shall be working at the power plant.” I instantly regretted it, however, when her eyes grew huge, sparkled, and asked where he was from, and, after confirmation, the alabaster mare was raving all about his final destination. ‘The glamour, the sophistication!’ However, she was cut short when an orange-ish pony with a yellowish mane and, admittedly, a quite stylish Stetson, walked in. Her presence silently warranted a change in the subject from both the stallion and the mare, who blushed quite severely.
“Rare, I could hear you outside, and it worried me. And then I chuckled, ‘cause you must’ve come across somepony from Canterlot. Good luck to yer, partner.” Looking at me, I could feel my cheeks beginning to warm, and Miss Marshmallow turning even more red, progressing from rose to beet.
“Well, goodbye. Remember the coat and pants!”
“Of course.”
[End Flashback]
________________________________________
[Rod; Present Day; 99 Hours 0 Minutes; The Moon]
“Well, I guess weathering a storm can take a life and then some out of you.” Luna was speaking now, saddened and slightly frightened of what she had seen. “I learned years ago that he came, but was lost again. He had faithfully followed you over all the distances, from Las Pegasus to Trottingham to Stalliongrad, journeying through places unknown, arriving at Dodge Junction, to the warm hospitality of an aged Cherry Jubilee, who let you stay through all the seasons of snow until the rails could be fixed for the way to Appleloosa and Manehattan and beyond. “
“But,” she now said, with slight pause, “what made him snap was not the snow, not the unknown, but what was known; the fact that Root was out there and in such close proximity to him ruffled his feathers, so to speak, and simply drove him mad. The main reason this didn’t happen sooner was because he was in a place where there is not enough magical power, so to speak, or electricity, or nuclear power. But when you brought him into the plant, he had an outburst. The main reason everybody has to be so calm to work in a nuclear power plant is because, any stray emotions are amplified. He remembered something nobody else did. He remembered who killed his mother, for he had much intellect. However, his knowledge weakened him mentally, making him another Screw Loose, the generic name for everypony in the mental ward in Canterlot. In other places, he would be called a nutcase, or a screwball, or, simply insane. I have watched his never-ending nightmare, what has happened since, and what he is doing until an hour ago. Since then, contact has been lost. What happens down there is a complete mystery to everypony, even Celestia.”
She let me take this all in, and continued with her large speech.
“The reason for his anger and frustration is simple once figured out, but complex, even for a pony such as myself. The only times alicorns are made is when they are born at a specific time, extremely specific. Such as, nanoseconds difference will decide your fate. For you to comprehend it, I would have to tone it down, say, to a large scale game of a lottery, whereas opposed to a drawing every day and maybe around tens of thousands of ponies playing for a specific set of numbers, and the odds are stacked against you in, say, a one centillion quadrillion billion million in one shot, or, for some of you people out there, a rough estimation, around four hundred zeros after the initial one, given that a centillion is 303 zeros after the one. Go rack your numbers later. There are fluctuations in the time-space-magic continuum in which there’s enough of a gap that, immense amounts of magic can hit a pony. They are normally able to talk within a few days, if not several hours, and have enough raw magic to cast almost any spell. Tradition has it that you must be touching the emerald stone upon the throne in the Royal Canterlot Castle the exact same nanosecond you were born upon fifteen years ago. At sunset in 4 days, the time is right, and a foal born at just that time will possess immense power. However, as foretold, the fourth alicorn shall use it for evil, and Weave knows that from experience, so he will go forthwith to Canterlot Castle and set up guard.”
Pausing once again, she stared up into the sky, as if trying to recall something. Finally snapping back into reality, she said, “Oh, and the last time this happened, was around 5,000 years ago, give or take a few hundred.” This made me gasp.
“So what you’re telling me is, Root is actually an evil alicorn prince from the future who went back in time to kill my family because of a dusty old prophecy?”
“Basically, yes. That and we all would actually be on Equestria with an evil alicorn prince, Celestia and I would be imprisoned in an old set of dungeons underneath the castle, and the majority of the creatures that have came to Equestria within the past few years – Discord; my evil persona, Night Mare Moon; Chrysalis; and King Sombra would most likely be roaming free.”
“And my insanely crazy, mental son Screw-Loose-type, nut job is our only hope?
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Oh boy.”
________________________________________
[Stroke; 90 Hours 0 Minutes; Traveling the Unknown]
“Stopping!” The group of fillies and colts seemed to be waiting for a match as they stopped their march from the early afternoon of that day to their point underneath the midnight moon to a seemingly abandoned station town. Disgruntled ponies lay about as somepony shouted ‘Finally!’ and promptly collapsed, the journey proving to be on the borderline of disaster for him. Some of the stronger ponies had been recruited to take carts from the nearby farm to haul wagonloads of foals in. However, their efforts to reap the rewards of their cunning goods proved fruitless as many a pony saw the journey as being too much for them, lying down in the steaming sand only to have their skin stripped off, and another pristine set of bones in the harsh deserts that not even the most skilled woodsponies would dare to cross. By the time they reached the small ghost town, their pack had been decimated from a sturdy 500 to a meager 25, all left of Stalliongrad a ragtag group of a few fillies and colts, plus Paint Stroke and Cloud Chaser. The group had already passed through a small mountain range, a desert, and across a river (which several younger ponies drowned in). Finally, Stroke looked at Chaser and whispered “Cloud, this place is called Riverside. We just passed Las Pegasus without knowing it.”
“You want to hear a story, maybe make an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit?”
“Sure. Living under a box doesn’t help your case much, and everybody knows me as a painter with intuition; it would be nice to learn some history.”
And so, without further ado, Cloud Chaser began a story about a corrupt Stalliongrad leader and his subjects. “Once upon the Tac Dynasty, there were the rulers of Stalliongrad, and they were cats. Yes, cats. And these cats were very fond of milk. Well, a pony who wanted to overthrow the empire, so he put a poison in the king’s milk. However, the suspect’s glee turned into fright as the emperor did not instantly die; instead, he decided to write a book on his now mentally skewered imagination. I shall not mention the title, but there were enough grammatical and spelling errors, not to mention the worst plot anypony’s ever seen, and published it. It was about three ponies, an earth pony, a unicorn, and a pegasus, who hated each other, so much so that the earth pony attempted to poison the unicorn. However, the pegasus was hungry and ate it, and she fell asleep, which was fine by both of the other two. When the pegasus woke up, she was really fat; the flab was feet deep, and she couldn’t move. The story ends there, and it was ‘required reading’ inside the home of everypony’s home. Once he himself read it, he let out a public apology, basically saying ‘So long, and thanks for all the fish’. He then killed himself.”
“What happened to everypony who read the book?”
“That’s where the Third Tac Death March came in. around 100 ponies came and attempted to ‘spread the word’ of ‘the Great and Powerful Tac XLVII’, but it was accepted later on that it was just getting the crazy ponies away from the sane ones. Once every copy was burned, everything returned to normal. Rumor has it that this place was the last standoff of the 100 or so that left, now having dwindled down to only 10. Their spirits rest here, and they shall not rest until the book is returned.”
As he finished the story, he noted that Paint was wan with terror. “Lighten up, Paint; it’s just a ghost story.”
Once a sigh of relief escaped her lips, she looked around to find the remaining ponies. However, silent as a mouse scurrying along into its hole, her terror began to grow again. “Cloud, why is it so silent?” Her words dropped off as she realized that he was not there anymore. The warn body next to her just seconds ago had disappeared, and her face scrunched up in horror. “What is that awful smell?!” The scent of raw sewage hit her nose, and she gagged and keeled over in disgust. “Mommy, Momma Stroke, please don’t let me die here.”
Green glinting eyes greeted her from the tree line as another pair popped up, one after another. She noticed a hard-bound book hitting her hoof, seemingly with a mind of its own. The old-type font jumped at her.
“Oh, wherever you ponies are that preached the teachings of the Great and Powerful Tac XLVII, come help me! I have your book, and I don’t want to die!” The green eyes moved in closer, slowly shambling up to their prey, their meal.
Dessert.
But a force came upon Paint, a feeling of survival, endurance, resistance. I will not die here!
And then the timber wolves pounced. Refusing to die, she fought off one after another with her bare hooves, but there were too many for a normal pony to even begin to consider hope, and Paint was beneath even the lowliest of ponies. Once her hope started to wane, the timber wolves took the opportunity and pounced upon their prey. However, she felt a force behind her. But, there’s a wall there… and a barrage of ghostly greens, whites, yellows, some blues, a few grays, and many other ghostly ponies came upon the pack of timber wolves, and, against all odds, she had defeated an innumerable amount of timber wolves.
And then she noticed the ghosts, glaring at her, with steely, translucent eyes that made her nauseous from the horror.
“Where is the book…?”
________________________________________
[Weave; 50 Hours, 30 Minutes; Approaching Canterlot]
Only two days. Two days until his destiny arrives. Two days until he will rule Equestria again. I must not let this happen. If it does, Equestria shall once again be plunged into a darkness of evil. Weave wanted to be there with his father when he defeated the evil Twisted Roots. His soul and body switching, time management amulet or, as he loved to call it: Something and Bigger Somethings: The Moral Amulet, was something he took from the evil colt in the distant past. With it, any scene from his life was magically replicated, and he took the body of anybody within a mile of the memory.
It had a small fragment of Root inside it. Most of his evil spirit was contained inside. The time amulet had a mind of its own now. He tested it once; he was sent back to his first day of grade school, and he had been sent into the same body he had once possessed. His strongest feelings were there. Since then, he had used it several more times, mostly for his own benefit. He had made sure his dad got the job he needed, he got into the school he wanted, anything of that sort. It was also the main reason his death was delayed even further; he had snatched it from the unsuspecting entity of evil and changed the events of the land of Equestria. The time ticking in his brain, counting off the hours, the minutes, seconds, and even more accurate for his day to shine, his few seconds, the few seconds until the bittersweet end. Equestria may be saved, but I won’t be here.
Not anymore.
With no time to spare, he rushed into the Princess’ quarters. Finding the secret entrance, he made his way into the potion room. Flipping through the sheer quantity of books, he found the one he was looking for.
“Sleeping Draughts: a Guide to Putting Insomnia Off”
Just the book made him shiver with anticipation.
I wish I had a unicorn in here to help. Make everything so much simpler. Ah well, improve was always a specialty of mine. Gathering the materials for 48 batches of 1 hour sleeping potions, he crawled beside the throne, admiring its elegance and grace, the rubies and sapphires glimmering in the setting sun.
I hope you bring your best, Root, for I have no mercy. And with that, he swallowed the first of many potions, the bitter muck soothing his throat, and he collapsed, next to the throne.
